How to Get Ainsley Bishop to Fall in Love With You (17 page)

It’ll be fine.

Her response was almost instantaneous.

I haven’t told Ian.

Holy crap
. I dialed her number, and she answered on the first ring.

“I know. I know. What was I thinking?” she said.

“You haven’t told him? He’s sitting in the front row. Don’t you think he’s going to notice?”

Ainsley sighed. “I couldn’t find the right time.”

“Well, I’d say you’ve run out of time now.”

“I know. He’s going to be so mad.”

Okay, so at this point, I realized this could go two ways. I could go the selfish route, try to drive that wedge a little bit deeper. Or I could take the high road and try to be a good friend.

Sometimes ethics were a real pain in the butt.

I took a deep breath. “Ainsley, it’s going to be okay.”

“Is it?” Her voice was so small, hopeful. “You really think so?”

“I do. The play is going to be amazing, and Ian will understand. When he sees how everybody loves it, he’s going to understand why you changed it.”

Ainsley was quiet for a long moment. “He will, won’t he?”

“Of course he will.”

Yeah
.
Sure
.

“Okay.” She let out a long breath. “Okay. You’re right. It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be great.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Well, it will be if you get off the phone. It’s curtain time.”

Ainsley laughed, and my stomach fluttered at the sound. I had it bad.

“Yeah. Okay,” she said. “Oliver?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. I don’t know how I would have gotten through all this without you.”

I didn’t know it was possible to feel elated and disappointed at the same time, but in that moment, I did. Because I was glad I helped Ainsley, I really was. But the fact was, I had helped her—continued helping her—with the play, with school, even, as much as I hated to admit it, with Ian. Which planted me deep in the terra firma known as the Friend Zone.

Not that I minded being her friend. She was a great friend, actually. But I’d hoped for more, and in that moment, I realized—maybe began to accept for the first time—that I probably wasn’t going to get it.

“I’m glad to help,” I said quietly before I hung up the phone.

“Everything okay?” Viney asked, taking his spot by the light board.

I shrugged. “Yeah. Everything’s good. You ready?”

Viney nodded, the stage manager’s voice came over my headset, Viney lowered the lights, I hit the first music cue, and the curtain lifted.

10.
Be Encouraging and Supportive

Be a sounding board. Be there when she needs someone. Celebrate her victories and share in her failures.

The Showcase was a huge success. Well, Ainsley’s play was, at least. The other two met with a lukewarm reaction, but
Love in the End Zone
was featured last, and it blew the house down. Everyone laughed in the right places, and the cast got a standing ovation at the curtain call, Ainsley front and center. Her smile was so bright she practically glowed, laughing exuberantly as the cast joined hands for one last bow before the curtain fell.

Once Viney and I had shut down the stage lights, I made my way through the mingling crowd toward the stage, a small bouquet of pink roses clutched in my sweaty palm. Sure, red would have been a more traditional choice, but I didn’t want to spook Ainsley. Everyone knew what red roses meant, and I knew it would have been too much. Pink roses, though, were a safer choice. Pink for admiration, appreciation, joyfulness. Yeah, I looked it up. Still, I felt on edge, and my stomach flipped as I paused at the bottom of the stage steps.

“Nervous?” Hank appeared beside me, a quiet smile on his face.

I nodded, switching the bouquet to my other hand so I could wipe my palm on my jeans. “How’d you like the show?”

His smile grew. “It was fantastic. But then I knew it would be.” He winked.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” I said. “Thanks.”

“No need,” he replied, waving away the praise. “I can’t believe your girl actually had me listed in the program.”

“She’s not my girl—”

“Yet,” Hank said, raising a finger.

I took a deep breath, my eyes drifting to the curtain leading backstage. “You sound pretty confident. You don’t even know her.”

“I know you.” His serious tone drew my attention away from the curtain. “You’re a good man, Oliver. She’d be lucky to have you.”

I met his gaze but only saw earnestness in his eyes. My face warmed under the praise—I couldn’t help it—but I tried to maintain my composure and keep down the sudden lump in my throat. “Thanks,” I said. “But this isn’t about me. Tonight is . . . it’s special to her. It’s about her.”

Hank nodded, and I gestured toward the stairs. “You should come back with me. I know Ainsley wants to meet you in person—thank you herself.”

Hank’s face lit up, and he dipped his head. “It would be my honor.”

We climbed the steps side by side and slipped behind the curtain to the dimly lit backstage area. It was a bustle of activity, groups of people laughing and chatting, a few, like me, bearing bouquets of flowers and clutching stuffed animals. Ms. Sherman spotted me and rushed over in a cloud of flowery perfume.

“Oliver, thank you so much for your help,” she said, smoothing back her hair. “You and Viney did an excellent job. Excellent. But I understand you were behind the changes to
Love in the End Zone
as well.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “A vast improvement, I have to admit. And the audience loved it!”

“I’m glad,” I replied. “But I was only the middle man, really.” I introduced Hank, and when Ms. Sherman heard his name, her eyes widened.

“Hank Wallace?” she said, her voice a breathy gasp. “I can’t believe it! I saw you in
Wings of a Dove
at the Roxy when I was a little girl!”

Hank’s face lit up with delight. “Really? No kidding.”

“You were amazing,” she said, her eyes taking on a distant quality. “I was only about ten or eleven, I think? I don’t remember a lot about the show, but when you sang ‘Lost in a Daydream,’ it was like I couldn’t breathe.” Her hand fluttered over her chest, her eyes sparkling. “I thought I wanted to be an actress myself, after that. To try to share that feeling?”

Hank smiled, his own eyes damp. “Did you?”

Ms. Sherman laughed. “Me? I tried. But you know what they say about those who can’t do.”

“They teach.” Hank nodded. “An honorable profession.”

“Yes, well . . .” She blushed, looking somehow younger. “I enjoy it. And nights like tonight make me feel like I made the right choice.”

I spotted Ainsley on the other side of the room, and Hank and Ms. Sherman’s conversation faded into the background. “I’ll be back,” I said, but I wasn’t even sure they noticed. With a deep breath, I smoothed my shirt and made my way toward Ainsley, my heart pounding heavily.

I wove my way through the crowd and lost sight of her. I frowned trying to quicken my steps as I searched for her, only to be waylaid by my History teacher, Mrs. Finn.

“Oliver! Wasn’t it amazing?” she asked.

“Yes. Yes it was.” My eyes focused on the spot where Ainsley had disappeared, and I tried to step around Mrs. Finn.

“You did a fine job as well,” she said graciously.

“Thank you.” I couldn’t fight the urgent feeling racing through me. Like I needed to hurry. I needed to get to Ainsley. “Mrs. Finn, you haven’t seen Ainsley Bishop, have you?”

“Oh, Ainsley did a wonderful job,” she gushed. “Did you know she wrote that play as well as acting and directing? Very talented girl she—”

“Yes, I know,” I said shortly. “But have you seen her? I really need to talk to her.”

Mrs. Finn didn’t seem to notice my gruff tone. She simply waved toward a small doorway to the back of the room. “I think I saw her head out into the hallway,” she said. “Perhaps to the ladies room?”

“Thanks,” I said, heading toward the hall before she even responded. The door was propped open with a rubber stopper, and I peeked through, the hallway empty and quiet in after-school hours, the lockers casting long shadows in the light through the high windows. I heard Ainsley’s voice and followed it before another deeper voice made me stop in my tracks.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

Ian
.

“We did this together, Ainsley. And you didn’t even have the guts to tell me—”

“I wanted to tell you!”

“Yeah, well you didn’t. Did you?”

“Ian, be reasonable,” Ainsley pleaded. “I know I should have told you, but can’t you be happy for me?”

“Be
happy
for you?” Ian slammed his hand against a locker, the sound echoing down the hallway. “For making yourself—making us
both
—a freaking laughingstock?”

“No, that’s not—”

“You made Bo look like an idiot!”

I inched forward and rounded the corner but kept to the shadows. I didn’t want to intrude, but I couldn’t leave either.

“Ian, he’s a character in a play,” Ainsley said, frustrated and near tears. “Bo isn’t you!”

Ian threw up his hands. “I know he’s not me. I’m not stupid, Ains—”

“I never said you were.”

“Well, you sure act like it!” he shouted. “Maybe I’m too dumb for you now. Maybe you like your new nerd boyfriend—”

“This isn’t about Oliver! God, he’s not my boyfriend. Don’t be ridiculous!”

At the mention of my name, I jolted, the cluster of pink roses slipping from my fingers to the floor. The movement was evidently enough to alert them both to my presence, as two faces turned my way in surprise. Ian’s eyes narrowed, anger and dislike clear in his expression. Ainsley, however, was a little harder to read.

“Do you mind?” Ian angled his body slightly to position himself in front of Ainsley. “Trying to have a private conversation here.”

I gulped. Confrontation, as a rule, was not really my thing, but Ainsley’s pale face and watery eyes had me taking a step forward before I even realized it was happening.

“Are you all right?” I asked her, my fingers flexing nervously against my thighs.

“Of course she’s all right—”

“Ainsley,” I said, ignoring Ian. “Are you all right?”

Ian’s jaw tensed, and Ainsley glanced up at him nervously before reaching to take his hand, their fingers intertwining. “I’m fine, Oliver,” she said quietly. “Could you . . .” Her eyes flickered to the door in a silent message.

Of course
.
Right
.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” I muttered, reaching up to tug at my hair. “Sorry to interrupt. I just . . .” When they both said nothing, I backed away a few steps before turning on my heel to flee.

“What an idiot,” Ian said, his words echoing down the hallway.

“Ian!”

“What? It’s obvious he has some pathetic crush on you—”

“He’s just my tutor—”

I slammed through the door before I could hear any more. I was such an idiot.

This isn’t about Oliver! God, he’s not my boyfriend.

No, I wasn’t. But I was her friend. Wasn’t I? I thought . . .

Don’t be ridiculous!
The words echoed in my head, like they had bounced back and forth over the metal lockers in the hall.

He’s just my tutor
.

I made my way back to the stage and found Hank still chatting with Ms. Sherman. She shook his hand and went off to talk to someone else as I approached.

Hank eyed me carefully. “Everything all right?”

I nodded.

He’s just my tutor
.

I cleared my throat. “Ainsley’s dealing with some stuff, and she’ll probably be a while. You might not want to wait.”

Hank nodded slowly. “I’m needing to head back to the Center anyway. Maybe you can bring your girl by sometime so I can meet her?”

Don’t be ridiculous.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. I’ll do that.” I forced a smile.

“You sure you’re okay?”

I nodded. “Just tired. Long day.”

Hank’s lips thinned, and he laid a hand on my shoulder. He opened his mouth to say something then snapped it shut and patted me one more time before he turned and walked away.

I found a quiet corner to wait. Ainsley’s bag was stuffed under one of the makeshift dressing tables, so I knew she’d be back. I couldn’t explain why I needed to wait for her. I wanted to make sure she was all right. I wanted to make sure Ian didn’t hurt her—not physically, I didn’t think the guy would do something like
that
, but there were plenty of other ways to hurt someone. I wanted to know . . .

He’s not my boyfriend
.

I needed to know.

He’s just my tutor
.

The crowd backstage thinned out and a few minutes later Ian stormed by, face harsh and furious. He didn’t see me but pushed his way through the curtain and, I assumed, out of the auditorium. I swallowed thickly, my legs shaky as I crossed the room and picked up Ainsley’s bag. I headed back through the door and down the hallway, only to find her sitting on the floor, knees drawn up against her chest. She wasn’t crying, but she looked a little dazed, and it wasn’t until I was standing right next to her that she looked up.